


let me fall

by Wye (qt_myung)



Series: Never | Ever [1]
Category: GOT7, K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Idols, Fluff, Friendship/Love, I Don't Even Know, I have no idea what I'm doing, M/M, Romance, Will I Finish This Before Their Comeback? No One Knows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-01 00:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10175918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qt_myung/pseuds/Wye
Summary: The six times Mark catches Jackson and the one time he doesn't.





	1. July 2011 (first fall)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's July 2011 when Mark finds himself being brave.

It’s Sunday morning, 8AM, when the alarm clock draws Mark from dreamland. He groans and rolls onto his back from where he was sleeping on his side the entire night. He lies there for another half an hour, blankly staring at the ceiling as he rolls his sore shoulder, before finally dragging himself out of bed to wash up. Forty minutes, a quick shower, and a hastily prepared breakfast of cereal and black, unsweetened coffee later, he’s out of the dormitory and on his way to the JYPE practice studio.

Mark likes Sundays. Training schedules start half an hour later than usual, which gives him plenty of time to take the long bus ride to the company instead of having to squeeze with the weekend crowd on the packed subway. He stares out of the window as usual, earphones plugged in to his favourite iTunes playlist, as the Seoul landscape flies by his eyes.

It’s been more than half a year since he’s moved to this fast-paced city but he still hasn’t gotten used to the concrete jungle and modern skyscrapers over the spacious low-rise buildings and vast, vast greenery of Arcadia. The food here’s a bit spicier, the air slightly dustier, and the way of life a little more hectic than what he’s used to.

It’s nearing 9.30AM when he alights from the bus and makes the remaining short trek to the company on foot. He begins stretching his arms and loosening the joints in his neck and shoulders. His dance class isn’t scheduled till 12 noon, but his 10AM Korean language class has a tendency to overrun, leaving him scrambling to get his body warmed up and prepped for the intense workout that follows straight after. It’s oddly funny how quickly he’s already gotten used to this fast-paced lifestyle; back home, he wouldn’t even be out of bed before 2PM on weekends.

Back _home_ , where everyone he knows are, he wouldn’t be so lonely.

JYP Entertainment has always prided itself in being a multi-national company housing artists originating from a diverse range of nationalities and races, but it does little to ease this feeling of alienation. There are the Chinese trainees, but they’re rather significant in number and tend to hang out amongst themselves. They also speak in rapid-fire Mandarin Chinese that leaves him lost and uncomprehending on the rare occasions he hangs out with them. Then there are the ones who are also from America but, unlike him, are of Korean descent. He hangs out with them most of the time, feeling most comfortable with the language, but come major public and festive holidays they’d disappear to visit their relatives in their parents’ hometown.

He’s the only one in a state of limbo, not truly belonging anywhere, coming from halfway across the world to a foreign country, with no one he can turn to in dire times.

On Sundays, when he sees families and friends and loved ones out and about enjoying their day, he feels a little more homesick than usual.

He tugs up the hood to his sweater and keeps his gaze lowered as he slips past the group of fans gathered outside and heads into the building, skipping up the stairs two at a time.

 

* * *

 

His class had overrun again.

Instead of ending the usual 15 minutes before the next hour, to give the trainees sufficient time to move to the next location, his very enthusiastic language teacher decided to play a ten-minute long tutorial video on kimchi making that had him leaping on his feet and speeding out of the classroom the moment they were dismissed.

The practice studio is oddly packed and lit ablaze with hushed voices when he arrives, sweaty and breathless. Some of them he recognises shares the dance class with him, while others are completely new faces he’s never seen before. One of his classmates, a petite Korean girl with narrow eyes and a wide grin whose name he has still yet to catch comes up to him and informs him that class has been postponed due to the management introducing a new trainee.

“Ah,” He says awkwardly. Announcements for last minute changes and arrangements like these are usually posted in the Kakaotalk group chat – which on hindsight he recalls seeing a tiny notification for – but he’d been too antsy to rush out of Korean class to pay heed to.

He shyly thanks the girl before going to his usual corner and setting his things down. It’s apparent that this adhoc meeting is going to overrun – seeing as how it’s already five minutes past the stipulated meeting time – and since he has dance training right afterwards, there isn’t going to be spare time for him to dawdle around. Mark tunes out the conversations around him and settles down on the parquet floor, legs splayed out in front of him, and begins his warm-up routine.

Not half a minute later, a bumbling Thai boy runs over and crashes into his side. Mark lets out an unattractively loud _oof_ upon impact, but it seems the younger is completely unaffected.

“Ge, ge!” The teen cries excitedly, still having not adapted to referring to him by the Korean term _hyung_ yet, “Did you hear about the new trainee that’s coming in?”

The older boy groans – internally, because if he shows any emotion besides happiness and excitement to the Thai boy he’ll have mopey puppy eyes and pouty lips trailing after him for the rest of the day. His head is already throbbing from the incessant buzzing and the unnecessary hype isn’t alleviating his irritation. He soon finds that despite his resolve, his patience is quickly reaching his limit. “No, Bam Bam, I have not,” He says as evenly as he can, “And honestly I’m not really that interested. You say it like we don’t have new trainees coming in all the time.”

True to his word, the Thai boy’s lower lip juts out in an adorable pout that leaves all the female _noona_ trainees around them cooing at the sight. Mark pays them no heed. “No, it’s different!” Bam Bam protests (adorably. cue fawning sighs and more cooing sounds). “Apparently this trainee was–”

Fortunately Mark is saved from hearing the rest of the sentence when the studio door swings open. Bam Bam squeals and scrambles to the front to get a good view. The practice studio falls deathly silent, heads swinging in unison to regard the quartet standing by the threshold. It takes two seconds of absolute stillness from everyone before they file in one by one with the head of the A&R management team leading the entourage. JYP’s creative director comes in next, then the manager in-charge for the trainees, holding the door open for a final black, hooded figure to shuffle in.

The creative director gives his customary greeting before the A&R rep steps forward to introduce the new trainee. He’s a _Jackson Wang_ , turning nineteen (Korean age) this year, hailing from Hong Kong, and he speaks English, Chinese, Cantonese _and_ French.

The boy reaches up and shyly tugs his hood off.

It’s 3rd July 2011 when Mark lays eyes on Jackson on the first time.

Without the material shrouding his face Mark – and the others – can finally his features, and what the Taiwanese-American boy sees takes him aback in more ways than one. Jackson is of average height, probably just a quarter of an inch shorter than Mark is. He has a messy mop of chestnut brown hair on his head, long fringe falling over a pair of wide and dewy but tired eyes. He’s got distinctively and disarmingly handsome features even without makeup or the airbrushed idol packaging, Mark has to give him that, like a rough, uncut diamond barely unearthed from the ground. He’s smiling, small but intriguingly confident for someone standing on foreign soil facing a prominent language barrier.

He scans the curious onlookers with an impressively unwaveringly steady gaze and bows. “What’s up, everyone,” The boy begins in surprisingly smooth, unaccented English. Somewhere next to him, Mark thinks he hears someone sigh dreamily. “I’m Jackson. I love sports and hip-hop music, I love to dance, and… yeah. I’m a pretty normal kid, really.” The boy trails off and shrugs.

(Mark thinks it’s a vast contrast to when he’d entered the company seven months ago. He couldn’t even introduce himself to the much smaller crowd of trainees, in his first language, without stuttering over every other sentence and turning red every five seconds, voice sounding smaller and weaker with every word spoken. It’s what he dubs his eternal shame which Brian surreptitiously recorded in his phone and would use it as blackmail material whenever he needed a favour.)

All around, Mark can hear the hushed voices of English-speaking trainees translating the information to their native Korean counterparts. He supposes he should help some too, knowing enough of the Korean language to translate the simple introduction without stumbling, but he isn’t really that close with anyone to willingly offer his services. He doesn’t want to appear like a busybody who doesn’t know his place.

The creative director clears his throat. “Take care of him, alright?”

“Yes,” The group choruses. Jackson looks pleasantly surprised at the volume, the delight evident on his face, even though Mark’s certain he has no idea what’s going on.

When the directors take their leave and the manager continues on with miscellaneous logistics and administrative matters, Mark digs out his iPod from his backpack and turns on his favourite playlist. Lightly nodding his head to the rap lyrics spat into his ears at a tongue-twistingly fast level, his eyes are left to roam the studio freely and his attention gets drawn to the new trainee seated on the far side. Despite the hype, no one’s approached Jackson to strike up a conversation yet. For someone who’s charismatic and extroverted, he looks oddly lonely sitting by himself. And then Mark finds himself on his feet and heading towards the trainee. No one pays him any heed as he squats down in front of the slumped figure and offers an outstretched hand. **“Hey. My name’s Mark, Mark Tuan.”**

The boy’s head snaps up at the sound of a familiar tongue. **“You know English?”** Jackson asks in wide-eyed awe. He grasps Mark’s hand and gives it a firm, eager shake.

Mark chuckles. The younger boy’s innocence is endearing and reminiscent of when he first entered the company. “Yeah, and so do a couple of trainees here.” He says. He can tell the younger is brimming full of questions that he’s dying to ask, so he makes himself comfortable on the ground next to the boy and tucks his knees to his chest. He pulls out one side of his earphones and rests his iPod on top of his knees. “I’m Taiwanese by heritage, but I was born and raised in LA.”

 **“That’s cool.”** Jackson breathes, sounding star-struck. **“I’ve always wanted to go to America, like on a proper vacation and not for competitions.”**

 **“Competitions?”** Mark echoes, interest piqued, but he doesn’t miss the look of immediate regret on Jackson’s face the moment the words left his mouth. It feels as though an invisible wall had been erected that very moment, locking his emotions away, when the younger boy’s eyes harden and he gives a strained smile but doesn’t reply. Instead, Jackson busies himself with looking for something in his heaving knapsack.

The silence stretches on to uncomfortable lengths and Mark squirms. He regrets every streak of common sense telling him to act upon the idealistic thought of coming over to talk to and befriend the new trainee; he should’ve known by now that going against his reticent, awkward nature is never a good idea. He’s about to beat a hasty retreat and hotfoot back to his own lonesome (but safe) corner when Jackson, as though sensing his internal conflict, suddenly pips up, **“How’s trainee life here? Is it as torturous as rumoured?”**

With that question the tension gets dispelled. Mark laughs, relief flooding him, and it sends a couple of curious gazes in their direction from the other trainees, unused to seeing or hearing him like this. He clears his throat and swipes his tongue over his bottom lip self-consciously. **“Well, I don’t know what kind of rumours you’ve been hearing and where you got them from, but it’s pretty boring the past seven months I’ve been here. Unlike the Korean trainees, school’s not compulsory for us so everyday’s pretty much a fixed routine. Dance lessons, vocal lessons, acting lessons, etiquette lessons, Korean lessons… the typical.”**

Mark shrugs as he finishes what was probably the longest sentence he’s spoken in a conversation ever since arriving in Korea. He looks up from where he’s toying with a loose thread on his sweatpants to find Jackson observing him with soft eyes and an inquisitive smile.

 **“You don’t talk much, do you?”** Jackson says plainly when Mark raises an eyebrow in response. He bursts out into a bright, high-pitched hyena-like laugh that startles everyone in the vicinity, including the elder when he draws away, flustered. **“I was just making a wild guess because your voice sounded raspy; I didn’t expect to be spot on.”** Mark blushes.

 **“Your laugh is really loud,”** He retorts smartly, but the biting impact is vastly watered down by his flaming hot cheeks.

 **“Nice comeback,”** Jackson simpers, **“I’m wounded.”** He smirks triumphantly when Mark huffs.

 **“I was going to offer to share Tyga’s _hella lit_ mixtape with you, since you mentioned you like hip-hop,”** Mark says haughtily, waving his iPod in the younger’s face, **“But since you’re being rude I’m just going to keep all the goodness to myself.”**

 **“Hey, sharing is caring; Don’t be selfish,”** Jackson gripes, immediately making a beeline for the abandoned side of Mark’s earphones greedily and sticking it in his ear. He shuffles closer to the elder, letting their sides of their arms brush, as he rearranges the wires to drape over their forearms. **“Oh damn,”** He breathes when the melody starts flowing, **“The beat is sick.”**

 **“Told you,”** Mark gloats. He’s always prided himself in his taste in music. It’s unfortunate that the other American trainees are only into generic bubblegum pop because they have no idea what they’re truly missing out on.

They listen in silence, backs resting against the cool surface of the mirror, as staff personnel bustle in and out of the studio bringing in and carrying out racks of clothes and recording equipment and the remaining of the trainees trickle out and rejoin their lessons.

 **“Hey, Mark?”** Jackson starts after the fourth song winds to an end.

He hums, fiddling with the volume controls distractedly.

 **“Thanks for being my first friend here.”** Jackson turns to the elder and bumps his shoulder with the latter’s playfully.

Warmth blossoms in his chest as he gently nudges the younger back, returning the lavishly genuine smile that is bestowed on him.

_Thanks for being mine, too._

 


	2. May 2012 (second fall)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's May 2012 when Mark finds himself going the extra mile for someone else.

Mark’s been looking everywhere for Jackson because it’s almost time for dinner. They’re supposed to have a free hour in their schedule now, which they always spend sneaking out to the convenience store on snack trips, but ever since the younger stepped out of the studio an hour ago after the end of their dance lesson he’s been nowhere in sight. Mark has asked multiple trainees and even some of the staff members loitering around but no one has any idea where the Hong Kong boy disappeared to. It’s unlike Jackson to remain so low-key when he can always be heard skipping down the hallways, bursting into every practice studio and greeting everyone in the vicinity in his friendly, rambunctious manner. With each passing minute, Mark’s worrying only increases tenfold.

 

Jackson has been acting weird for the entire week. The huge group had been chattering and making a ruckus at the cafeteria during lunch, Jackson as usual being the centre of attention and source of the liveliness, when he’d distractedly opened the link to an online news article between large mouthfuls of _kalbitang_. In a passing moment, Mark sees a brief flash of hurt crossed Jackson’s eyes, dulling their usual bright and lively shine, and the younger hadn’t even realised he’d cut himself off midsentence.

 

 **“Hey,”** Mark nudges him softly, snapping him out of his quiet moodiness. **“You okay? You kinda stopped talking halfway.”**

 

It’s only then that Jackson realised that everyone was looking at him curiously. **“Yeah, man,”** He answers hoarsely. He clears his throat and locks his phone, placing it in his lap screen down. **“I just saw this gross picture of a wrinkly bikini-wearing grandma on Facebook.”** He says loudly enough for the entire table to hear him, **“I don’t know why I clicked on it.”**

**“Eww!”** The five other trainees screech, recoiling at once.

**“TMI, dude.”** Jae Hyung says snidely. **“I could’ve lived without knowing it. Now that imagery is engraved in my brain forever.”**

 

Don wrinkles his nose. **“Yeah, man. Why would you even open it?”**

 

 **“I think I lost my appetite.”** Jackson adds, exaggeratedly pushing his bowl away from himself and wrapping his arms around his stomach.

 

 **“If you don’t want to eat anymore then I’m stealing it!”** Bam Bam, ever the food-raiding opportunist, pips up immediately, eyeing the bowl of rapidly cooling soup greedily.

 

Jackson waves dismissively at the younger. **“Go ahead. I don’t think I can stomach anything else after that trauma.”**

 

 **“Thanks, hyung!”** Bam Bam sings as his grubby hands snatch the dish and drag it over to his side of the table. Brian chuckles and ruffles the kid’s hair, much to his chagrin.

 

There’s definitely more to it though, Mark can tell, because A) Jackson had been on Naver, the bold font and its distinct green colour impossible to miss when he’s literally plastered to the younger’s side, and B) the Jackson Wang he knows never ever turns down food. But Jackson is evidently uncomfortable with sharing in a group setting, so Mark lets it go as well.

 

The incident gets dismissed quickly as the conversation moves on to other less gastronomically-challenging topics and the table returns to its original rambunctiousness. No one notices the strain in Jackson’s loud voice when he cracks jokes at the others’ expense nor do they mention the way he seemingly closes in on himself again after making a mandatory lewd comment on the suggestive pictures of poster girls in Don’s phone.

 

No one but Mark, with the image of Jackson’s despondent face etched in the back of his mind. He tries to approach Jackson that night, but it’s as though literally the entire universe decides to go against him.

 

It starts off with the martial arts instructor requesting him to stay back an hour after class to try out this new move that “only he can pull off” (He ended up botching the jump, genuinely, so many times he eventually gets dismissed anyway). Then when he returns to the dormitory, he discovers that the water heaters to one of the two communal showers has broken down, and because nobody is sane enough to take a cold shower in the middle of Spring, the queue for the remaining bathroom has stretched to exorbitant lengths. He emerges from his shower to find Jackson – watching a movie in the living room with the others – getting onto his feet and declaring that he’s turning in for the night. He’s about to seize the opportunity to follow after the younger boy, only to be reminded by a helpful Jae Hyung that it’s his turn to be on laundry duty. He casts a longing gaze at Jackson’s retreating form disappearing into the bedroom before heading into the kitchen with an armful of clothes.

 

By the time he enters the sleeping quarters, tense and aching muscles screaming in agony and exhausted to the bone, it’s way past midnight and the lights are off. He takes a look at the silhouette of Jackson’s peacefully slumbering figure, recalls the prominent dark circles under his dull eyes, and climbs into his own bed with a despondent sigh.

 

Things pick up at the company after that day, and being swept up in the flow of things, Mark simply… let his plan slip his mind until he completely missed the golden time frame and doesn’t know how to go about confronting the younger again. He can only helplessly keep a watchful eye out for the younger as they spend nearly every single waking moment together.

 

He racks his brain to recall every single hangout spot within the vicinity that Jackson could possibly at. It’s highly unlikely that Jackson left the building, or – even if he did – travelled far since they’ve still got a couple lessons left for the day.

 

Mark steps out of yet another empty recording booth and continues his search down the hallway. _If he’s within the vicinity though…_ His back straightens, eyes lighting up. He dashes towards the exit, nearly bowling Jae Bum over in his haste, hopping down the stairs whole flights at a time.

 

Most of the fans have already gone home, and his sudden appearance, bursting out from the door in a flourish, doesn’t create much of a ruckus. His dance sneakers pound against the asphalt as he speeds down the road, and the wait at the traffic light felt the longest two minutes of his life before his feet bring him to the seventh floor of the JYP Training Centre building.

 

 _Lucky number seven, because it’s in the middle of 852 and 626_ , Jackson had told him ingeniously when they discovered their hidden nirvana – with Mark’s dubious lock-picking skills – in the form of a small, underused and almost permanently locked practice room tucked away in a corner.

 

Sure enough, he hears a single muffled voice echoing through the corridors when the elevator doors open to the darkened and otherwise completely deserted floor.

 

As Mark creeps nears the corner practice studio, it’s clear from the periodic pauses that Jackson’s on the phone with someone, and that he’s _crying_. The wrecked sobs are so foreign to Mark’s ears he almost thinks he’s imagining it; he’s never heard the strong, fearless younger boy cry before, and the sound of it absolutely breaks his heart.

 

Mark’s nowhere near fluent in Cantonese, but he manages to catch a few phrases he recognises from the hundred episode-long Hong Kong dramas his mother loves to watch back home in Los Angeles. “I’m having such a hard time, Mummy.” He hears the broken boy blubber, “I never thought things would be so difficult.”

 

In the past eight months, Jackson has never once cried when he’s on the phone with his mother. He’s always bright and positive, happily reporting his day in sharp, rapid fire Cantonese dialect that always has other table occupants look over in alarm, thinking he’s gotten into a verbal altercation with whoever’s on the other end of the line. Mark knows better though, and would calmly dismiss the prying gazes as he watches on endearingly in half-understanding.

 

More sniffles come in Mark’s direction; Jackson sounds so, so tired. “I threw away everything I had just for this and made Daddy mad. I know I would regret it to some extent, but I always thought that what I would gain from this experience would outweigh it. But then, I’m here and everyone else is so good, so much better than me, and I’m scared. It’s been a year, and… I just don’t know if I made the right choice anymore.”

 

Mark remembers Jackson showing him fencing videos from his last competition. “I was in my best form then.” The younger boy says as he eyes the tiny figure dance across the LED screen intensely. Mark sees his fingers twitch involuntarily whenever the younger Jackson successfully parries an attack and makes one of his own. “I was literally unbeatable, in the team, in terms of physique and skill. After those two Golds and one Silver, I was pretty much a shoo-in for the next Olympics.”

 

An Olympic dream; Jackson had given up an _Olympic_ dream. It’s so unattainable Mark can’t even begin to fathom ever being placed in Jackson’s shoes and having to make that literal life-changing decision at the tender age of seventeen. Jackson is one of the bravest people he knows, ambitious, courageous and mature enough to give up the one thing he’s good at and holds dear to in order to chase after an unknown future.

 

He' has always been blasé about giving up on his fencing career, dismissing it with a shrill laugh and a _you only live once, y’know?_ whenever it gets mentioned. He’d never shown a single sign of unhappiness or struggle to anyone; not even to him, his closest confidant, and Mark can’t even blame him for pridefully keeping it a secret.

 

With the weight of the consequences of his seemingly wrong decision, one that could’ve possible single-handedly ruined his life, resting on his shoulders and dragging him down, Jackson didn’t have anyone to turn to to share the burden with.

 

Mark’s heart aches so fiercely for the younger boy.

 

“I miss you.” He hears Jackson say in a boyish, child-like tone. He can almost imagine the younger boy curling up in a corner, knees tucked to his chest, trying to fold in on himself to make himself as small as possible. “Should I come back this winter holiday?”

 

His mother’s response is long. Even though Mark can’t hear it, he finds himself oddly expectant. “Okay,” Jackson says eventually. “I need to go now; Mark’s probably waiting for me. Take care of yourself. I love you. Bye.”

 

Mark doesn't even register the moisture on his face until he reaches up to ruffle his hair, and feels the tears staining his ruddy cheeks. He brushes away the pearlescent rivulets brusquely and spins on his heel, sneaking away through the fire escape silently before Jackson can round the corner to see his utterly devastating heartbreak.

 

* * *

 

When the trainee showcase’s official date gets announced, despite his horrendous crew cut and poorly taken profile shot, Mark’s hands are shaking and his palms sweaty as he grips onto the promotional flyer so tightly his knuckles turn white. _Mark (20)_ , next to _Jackson_ _(19)_ , proudly graces the second row of the simply designed advertisement. He doesn’t have a solo stage, unlike Yugyeom, but this nonetheless is the first showcase he’s participating in. He _finally_ has something substantial that he can show, after one and a half years in Korea, and he absolutely can’t wait.

 

The moment they’re dismissed from the briefing, he grabs the first piece from the stack and rushes off to an empty recording booth to make the important phone call.

 

He’s still thrumming with excitement when he returns to the studio after his lengthy conversation with his parents. He tosses his phone to the side carelessly, onto his backpack, and makes his way to where Jackson’s on the floor doing warmup stretches.

 

 **“You informed your parents?”** The younger boy asks when he plonks down.

 

 **“Mmhmm,”** Mark says, **“They insisted on coming, even though I told them it wouldn’t be necessary since I’ll already be returning to LA during year end.”** He runs his hands over his calves. They’re slightly tender to the touch – he thinks he might have strained them executing the final backflip yesterday – but he knows now is the time to push his body to his limits. He only wants to show his parents his very best.

 

 **“Are yours coming?”** He asks distractedly.

 

He regrets his words the moment they left his mouth when he sees Jackson gives him a tight-lipped smile and a small shake of his head.

 

 **“My mum… She has a recurring heart condition so she’s actually medically unfit for flying, and… uhm,”** Jackson looks down at his lap and brushes away invisible lint from his sweatpants, appearing visibly distressed. **“My dad will be in London for the Olympic games.”** He finishes quietly. **“The fencing competitions would be over by then but he would want to stay for the entire duration to support the other national teams, I think.”**

 

Mark feels like the biggest, most insensitive douche ever.

 

He doesn’t realise how blessed he is to have such supportive parents – not that Jackson’s isn’t, but they’re less available to be physically present at his performances and showcases and that can definitely put a damper on anyone’s fighting spirit – who are always vocal of how proud they are of his measly achievements. Sure, his family is more well-off than most in terms of finances, but his parents never mention the strenuous effort to the endure fifteen-hour flights and toll on their physical health in order to visit him, their eldest son, in Seoul.

 

Simple things, such as being able to spend time with his family, come like second nature to him due to his spontaneous parents and he often takes these opportunities for granted. For high-profile, high-flying families like Jackson’s, though, it’s a luxury to even be able to sit at the same table and have a meal together.

 

Some people might think that Jackson’s born with a silver spoon, blessed to have been brought up in a relatively wealthy family with a stable childhood and positive learning environment, but they don’t see the struggles behind being the perfect poster child, always having to live up to the expectations placed on him by society.

 

 **“It’s fine, though,”** Jackson continues, putting on a wide, plastic smile that’s painful to see. **“I’ll probably be seeing them in December if I go back to Hong Kong. But that plan’s still up in the air; I think I might want to stay here to practice some more.”**

 

 _If._ The quietly spoken word echoes so loudly in Mark’s ears as though it was shouted instead. It’s apparent Jackson’s forsaking the chance to return to his homeland, despite the serious homesickness he’s stewing in, literally because he feels his skills are lacking too much to afford the long break. And Mark figures that if he can’t bring Jackson to his family, he’ll bring family to Jackson. He sees the chance and seizes it. **“Do you want to go home with me?”** He blurts out spontaneously.

 

Jackson looks at him, stunned, for two whole seconds before he blinks again. **“Home? As in America? Los Angeles?”**

 

The elder shakes his head. **“Nah, LA is a bit too far, I think. I was thinking of Taiwan, instead, since I’ll be going over to visit my relatives before I head back to LA. Do you want to come along? I can bring you to all my favourite hangout spots and eateries. You said you’ve always wanted to eat authentic braised pork rice; it’ll be really fun.”**

 

It’s his turn to be rambling now, and Mark consciously shuts himself up before he can make a bigger idiot of himself. Jackson’s quiet, so quiet he thinks he must’ve fucked things up impossibly more. His flight instincts are deeply triggered – because he’d positively die of mortification if he were to witness his genuine offer being taken as a vote of sympathy and getting rejected – and he swears he’s never been through a more nerve-wrecking moment as he awaits the younger boy’s reply.

 

Eventually, Jackson looks up again. **“On one condition,”** Mark eyes the younger boy warily, filled in half anticipation and half dread, as he pauses for dramatic effect. Jackson grins mischievously when he sees the intended effect of his suspense working. **“You gotta come back with me to Hong Kong too. I’ve told my mum so much about this mysterious boy named Mark Tuan that she’s dying to meet you.”**

 

Mark’s shoulders sag in relief and he breaks out into a smile warm and bright enough to rival the sun. **“You better have your itinerary ready, Mr. Tour Guide.”**


	3. April 2013 (third fall)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's April 2013 when Mark finds himself taking the biggest leap of faith he's ever taken his whole life.

Mark thinks there’s serendipitous beauty in knowing someone like the back of your own hand, as though that person is a part of you, an extension to your own body, living and breathing and surviving as one entity; he feels that with Jackson.

 

He knows what makes Jackson tick and what turns him off. He knows every single habitual idiosyncrasy of Jackson’s from his inability to function without at least two cups of coffee within half an hour of waking up in the morning, down to the way Jackson only sleeps on his left because his right bicep is too bulky – from the years of professional fencing – to be comfortably rested upon. He understands Jackson to the level they can communicate through their gazes and can read the younger’s emotions from his body language.

 

It’s wondrous and magical yet at the same time so, so scary to be entrusting someone with your everything, with faith that the person will take care and cherish what you’re handing over on a silver platter. _Trust is a campaign promise_ , his high school philosophy teacher back in America used to tell the class all the time, but when he looks into Jackson’s earnest, infallible and utterly beautiful hazel brown eyes, he gets irrevocably compelled to believe in the younger.

 

He’s seated on the tiled floors in the patio, trying to fit his feet, clad in overly thick woollen socks, into his sneakers, when he hears footsteps approach him from behind. There’s a distinct heaviness in his steps, and he knows for certain it’s Jackson, never the morning person, dragging his feet out of the door. **“Hey Jacks, can you get my bottle?”** He grunts as he finally manages to get his shoes on with much difficulty. “我放在桌子上*.”

 

He hears the sound of heavy metal scraping against cheap wood before his thermos flask appears before his vision. “Thanks,” He accepts the bottle from the younger and gets to his feet for Jackson to take his place.

 

He looks over and sees Yugyeom observing him with an amused smile gracing his lips. **“What?”** He asks with a frown, feeling self-conscious at being scrutinised by the smiley, oversized teddy bear of a maknae.

 

“How did you know it was Jackson hyung?” Yugyeom asks pleasantly.

 

 _What kind of question is that?_ Mark’s frown deepens. “Why not?”

 

Yugyeom gestures into the living room where a loud crash had just resonated from, followed by Bam Bam’s distinct voice hollering an apology in accented Korean. Mark winces, and sincerely hopes that it wasn’t the window, because Spring is still in full swing, and given the boys’ tendency to go as unrestrained (read: naked) as possible, it will be a bad idea to get a case of literal blue balls. “Because we share a dorm with like, ten people. It could’ve been anyone coming to the door.”

 

“Yeah, but no one else walks like Jackson.” Mark replies matter-of-factly. He offers a hand when Jackson’s ready and tugs him up. Jackson jumps to his feet and dusts off the seat of his pants.

 

Yugyeom looks between the pair and tilts his head to the side curiously. “And how does Jackson hyung walk?”

 

Now, this question gets the elder stumped. How _does_ Jackson walk? Even Mark doesn’t know, he just _knows_ the way Jackson walks. The two of them exchange gazes before shrugging simultaneously. “He walks… like the way he walks,” Mark supplies unhelpfully.

 

Yugyeom snorts and crosses his arms over his chest. “That doesn’t make sense.”

 

“Your face doesn’t make sense.” Jackson sneers, smacking the youngest on the chest, only to be shoved to the side when Bam Bam elbows his way through. “Yah!” Jackson rages, only to be completely neglected.

 

“10/10 for the brilliant clapback, hyung,” The Thai boy tells him patronisingly, patting him on the back. Yugyeom hooks his elbow over his best friend’s shoulder and they share a high-five before turning on their heel and skipping down the hallway.

 

“Why do they only respect you and not me?” Jackson whines. “I’m their hyung too!”

 

Mark laughs when he sees the pout adorning the younger’s face. He’ll sulk for the entire journey to the company, alright, but with a heart as wide and forgiving as his, he’ll get over all his grievances come lunchtime; morning break if Mark bribes him with ice-cream. “Come on, Gaga,” He coddles the grouchy boy. **“If we get to the studio early, we can go grab Melona bars before the first class starts.”**

 

 **“It’s too cold to get popsicles,”** Jackson informs him haughtily, but the coquettish way he allows himself to be dragged along tells the elder he’s already halfway down the path to forgiveness; he just needs that Melona bar for the final push. Mark really knows him too well.

 

* * *

 

Right before their choreography lesson – their final class for the day – begins, Mark is silently browsing through Naver articles in his usual corner in the dance studio while Jackson’s resting with his head propped up in his lap, occasionally switching the songs in his iPod playlist they’re both connected to. Mark has a hand in Jackson’s hair, absently running his fingers through the soft strands as he reads. Jackson mewls a soft sound of contentment whenever the elder’s blunt nails scrape against his scalp.

 

 **“Damn, the new Iron Man movie is coming out.”** Mark mumbles as he stares at his phone intensely, thumb hovering mid-scroll. “Gaga, 我们去看吧*.” He shows the advertisement to the younger boy, who nudges his hand away to sit up straight.

 

 **“You and your unstoppable Marvel obsession,”** Jackson teases, shuffling in to close the space between them. He pulls up the calendar in his own phone and browses through his upcoming events. “How’s next Monday night? We can go after we finish the monthly evaluation.”

 

“But what if we end late?” Mark chews on his bottom lip worriedly, “We still have classes the next day…”

 

“Then we’ll catch the latest possible movie timing there is and just die the next day,” Jackson states plainly. “Come on, Tuan Yi-En, don’t be such a spoilsport.” He goads when he sees the elder’s evident hesitation, **“Live a little.”**

 

““You’re the one who wanted to watch the movie in the first place.” Jackson adds on as a reminder.

 

Mark hesitates. His inner conflict is written all over his face as his resilient outer shell cracks, and Jackson squeals gleefully.

 

 **“It’s on!”** He declares delightedly, already saving the new event into his calendar, before jumping to his feet and scuttling over to the other end of the studio, no doubt to bother Jin Young (again).

 

Mark shakes his head at the younger boy’s silly antics, chuckling, even, when he hears Jackson whine at being smacked for his disturbance, but he can’t stop the excitement from building within him. It fills him up to the brim with anticipation of spending time with his two most favourite things in the world until he’s spilling over, getting drops of happiness onto anyone who gets close enough.

 

Eventually, when the big day finally rolls by, the monthly evaluation _does_ end late as predicted. At 9.55PM, the moment debriefing ends, Mark and Jackson are speeding out of the studio with their backpacks carelessly slung over their shoulders and thumping against their backs as they shove at each other playfully while weaving in and out of the parked traffic on the road.

 

A bus ride and twenty minutes later, they’re at the CGV in Cheongdam staring up at the movie timings flashing on the LED screens above their heads.

 

 **“They’ve only got the 10.05PM and 10.30PM screening for Iron Man left for today.”** Jackson says as he squints to read the tiny words rolling by. “And it’s currently…” He unlocks his phone, **“10.12PM. Looks like we’ll have to catch the later show.”**

 

 **“We _might_ be able to catch the 9.55PM one if we skip buying movie snacks and run straight in to the theatre…”** Mark protests feebly, earning him a scandalised gasp and a look of utter horror.

 

 **“No, Mark, _never_.”** Jackson whispers with eyes creepily blown wide before calmly informing the staff member that they would have two tickets to the 10.30PM screening. **“I am not giving up my nachos nor my loaded chilli cheese fries for this.”**

 

Mark rolls his eyes at Jackson’s dramatics, reaching over and knocking the younger’s hand away to hand his credit card over to the counter staff. He scribbles his signature hastily on the receipt and steps aside to sort out and pocket the stack of receipts and tickets handed back to him. He thrusts a couple of bills into the younger’s hand and jerks his chin towards the snack kiosk. **“Go order your nachos and loaded chilli cheese fries and get me the jumbo popcorn set with a large coke while you’re at it. I want salted.”**

 

 **“Aww, Mark, are you treating me?”** Jackson coos, grinning teasingly.

 

 **“I asked you out; of course I have to pay.”** Mark tells him matter-of-factly despite his cheeks tingeing red at his misleading sentence. He nudges Jackson in the direction of the snack queue with a dismissive wave. “快点去. 别忘了我的爆米花要咸的*.”

 

* * *

 

 **“It’s so good.”** Mark raves the moment they exit from the darkened theatre. **“That part when Tony Stark orders J.A.R.V.I.S. to destroy all his Iron Man suits was crazy! Why would he waste all his effort like this? He could’ve donated them to me if he didn’t want them, you know. I would gladly accept his charity.”**

 

His eyes are bright and shining and he’s waving his arms about animatedly in wide, grand gestures, not realising the way Jackson’s clinging onto his every word, enamoured by him.

 

They step out of the mall, into the night, and hastily don their outerwear they stuffed into their backpacks. A gust of chilly wind blows by and Jackson shudders, pulling the zipper of his varsity jacket up to his throat before doing the same for Mark.

 

“Can’t have you falling sick,” The younger says jokingly as he fixes the collar of Mark’s jacket. He smoothes down the fabric wrinkles along the elder’s shoulders before dropping his hands to his sides. “Is this the jacket I bought you in Hong Kong last year?” Jackson asks softly.

 

 **“Yeah.”** Despite downing the large coke in the theatre, Mark’s throat still feels parched and his voice comes out raspy and choked.

 

“It looks good on you.” The younger’s eyes unashamedly roam over the maroon satin stretched over Mark’s slighter figure and the yellow letter _M_ embroidered over his chest. Everywhere Jackson’s gaze runs over, Mark feels his skin being set on fire. “It accentuates the paleness of your skin tone and matches your ginger hair.”

 

 **“Thanks.”** Mark runs his tongue over his dry lips. It draws Jackson’s attention immediately, whose wide, expressive brown orbs become fixated on his moist mouth almost hypnotically.

 

“Mark…” Jackson begins breathily, but the rest of his words die in his throat.

 

The intense gaze sets his freezing body ablaze. The younger’s cologne is making him heady and his heart is thundering faster and louder than when he first stepped off the plane and stepped foot into this city three years ago. “Gaga…?” He croaks.

 

Jackson snaps out of his daze, drawing away and taking a wary step back from Mark. The tense atmosphere dissipates, and so does the welcoming warmth from the younger’s firm body; Mark shivers as frigid air take its place. **“Let’s go,”** The latter says nonchalantly, turning in the direction leading away from the bus stop.

 

Mark frowns, glancing down both ends of the deserted street. “Where are you going? Bus stop’s the other way.”

 

“The weather is nice out tonight; I feel like taking a stroll along the river.” Jackson says simply.

 

 **“It’s getting late,”** Mark protests. He takes a glance at his phone and his heart nearly stops when he discovers it’s almost one in the morning. The last bus will be arriving any minute, and if they dawdle any longer they’ll definitely be walking home. “I’m sleepy and we have class tomorrow.”

 

“It won’t take that long,” Jackson promises reassuringly. “Besides, I want to hear you talk more about the movie. I love it when you get excited over something. You just start talking non-stop and it’s so cute.”

 

Mark flushes. He ducks his head and shoves his balled fists into the pockets of his jacket. **“’m not cute,”** He mumbles shyly, scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the tiled floor.

 

 **“Yeah, you are,”** Jackson tells him. He grabs Mark by the wrist, pulling his hand out of his pocket, and begins pulling the elder in the direction in the direction of the Han River. **“Come on. You can continue gushing about Tony Stark on the way.”** Whether or not it’s intentional the way Jackson continues to hold Mark’s hand even after the elder willingly moves on his own accord, neither of them bring it up.

 

They trod along the empty sidewalks in silence, letting their connected hands dangle and swing naturally in the space between them as they cut through the still neighbourhoods until the familiar underground pass leading to the riverside park approaches. The riverside is as quiet as the surrounding neighbourhood. As the bustling city sleeps, only the sound of crickets and murky river water lapping along the banks, periodically in a slow, lullaby-like melody, accompany them on their stroll. With the exception of the odd jogger or cyclist passing them every few minutes, they’re completely alone.

 

Jackson pulls him into a pavilion and plops down on the wooden bench, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. Mark sits down next to the younger and folds his legs under him, tugging the sleeves of his jacket over his fingers to keep out the chill. The atmosphere is different. There’s a hint of anticipation, as though both of them are expecting something, and it weighs heavily in the air surrounding them.

 

 **“Hey, Mark,”** Jackson says quietly. The addressed boy turns to look at him, but his eyes is adamantly fixed on the ground. **“Is this…”** Jackson swallows with difficulty, and looks over to meet the elder’s gaze. **“Am I reading the signs wrong? Is this a date?”**

 

The crickets stop chirping. The wind stops howling. Literally everything stills and Mark can hear his rapidly thundering heartbeat as blood rushes to his ears, nearly drowning out the younger’s words ringing in them. He sucks in a sharp intake of breath.

 

Sexuality is fluid, that much they’ve established, in this profession banking on metrosexual behaviour and androgynous dressing. While Jackson hadn’t been completely adverse to Korea’s culture brotherly skinship between men, he never showed signs that he was anything but 100% straight. It’s down a deep end that neither of them had dared venture into; hailing from liberal backgrounds meant possibly getting an answer they don’t want to hear.

 

And now, Jackson has taken the leap first, laying bare all his cards, and bracing himself for the worst. The ball is now in Mark’s court, and he knows his reply is going to be the game changer. He knows that no matter what he answers, their relationship will never be the same ever again. They’ll either move forward from here, building upon three years of platonic friendship as they embark on a new and never-before ventured adventure of mutual exploration and understanding not as best friends but as romantic partners, or they’ll regress to being the familiar strangers they never were.

 

He’s never been so conflicted and it’s making him deathly afraid. He doesn’t want to lose Jackson, but with each passing second of hesitation he’s losing him anyway.

 

Jackson, who crashed into his life like a tropical thunderstorm in the middle of sweltering summer, teetering his world off its axis. Jackson, whose presence completely changed his life for the better and can no longer live without. Jackson, who’s awaiting his answer with watery eyes shining brightly of hope and trepidation amidst an amalgamated whirlwind of unidentifiable emotions. Mark vaguely wonders if it’s a mere reflection of his own.

 

If there’s one thing that he’s learnt from Jackson, it is to never be afraid of failure and to always take chances.

 

It’s time for him to take the leap and be brave.

 

 **“It can if you want it to be.”** Mark returns the younger’s gaze and holds it firmly, hoping that his utmost sincerity gets conveyed. **“I do.”** He places his hand on the bench in the space between them, palm facing up and breaks the eye contact to stare back out at the river.

 

Eventually, he feels a shuffle of movement as Jackson untangles his arms, letting his legs fall open, and places his own hand over Mark’s, intertwining their fingers.

 

With that, the uncomfortably tight knot in his chest unfurls and Mark feels like he can finally breathe easily again. Soundlessly, he brings their hands up to his lips and rests them on his lap. From the peripherals of his vision, he can see Jackson grinning widely at his gesture like a fool in love, and he too lets loose the cage of butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s eventually three in the morning, nearing four, when they finally drag their exhausted and battered bodies home. Public transport has long ceased by then – in fact, perhaps it’ll be sooner if they just sat around for another hour for the buses to start running again – and instead of spending unnecessarily on a cab ride and incurring the additional midnight charge they decide to make the ten-minute walk back to the dormitory by cutting through smaller roads and back alleys.

 

Mark’s mind is more confused than ever; he doesn’t know where they stand. _Are they crushes? Somes? Boyfriends?_ So giddy and up in their own heads, they never clarified anything after the abrupt confession on the observation deck. _Will it be wrong to assume that they’ve now officially dating?_

 

Mark worries his lower lip as he averts his gaze.

 

They don’t talk until they’re halfway to their dorm, walking boldly on the middle of the deserted road. **“Hey, Gaga… Who spotted you when you were a gymnast?”** Mark begins, hands splayed out for balance as he tries to walk in a straight line along the white road marking.

 

 **“My mum,”** Jackson says quietly. He’s trudging along the road normally, kicking the occasional pebble that crosses his path away, bobbing his head to a rhythm that only he can hear. **“She took it upon herself to coach me personally because she couldn’t entrust her own son’s life into the hands of someone else.”**

**“I never trusted anyone else either.”** Jackson adds as an afterthought.

 

 _What about me_? _I spot you too_ , Mark thinks, feeling his leaden heart sink to his stomach, _Or do you trust me only because you had no choice but to? Do I still not hold any weight in–_

 

 **“Until you came along,”** Jackson interrupts before the elder can get a word in, abruptly stopping in his tracks. Mark turns to see the younger looking at him with dark, passionately burning eyes. **“You changed my mind. You changed my world.”**

 

Jackson lifts his chin up defiantly. “段宜恩,做我的男朋友好吗?”

 

“Gaga,” Mark breathes a weighty exhale, feeling his eyes prick, relief flooding through him like a dam that’s been breached. His feet involuntarily bring him even closer to Jackson until they’re standing chest to chest without an inch of space in between. He lifts one hand up to cup the younger boy’s face and brings their faces close enough for their noses to touch. **“Yes.”**

 

Jackson sinks his canine into the elder’s thumb softly and playfully when the appendage wanders too close, grinning wolfishly. The corners of his sparkling eyes crinkle as he retracts his teeth and kisses the slight indent and Mark falls impossibly more in love.

 

Along the dim, abandoned backstreets at half past four in the morning, no one sees the stupidly smiling mouths pressed together as two lanky, entwined figures share a brief moment of intimacy. No one else hears the common duet their hearts sing as they fall deeper into the welcomingly blissful abyss of enamoration. In a foreign land, in their little enclosed space illuminated by pale, waning moonlight and warm orange street lamps, Mark and Jackson never felt more at home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> words in bold = spoken in English
> 
> Chinese translations:  
> 我放在桌子上 = I left it on the table  
> 我们去看吧 = Let's go watch it  
> 快点去。别忘了我的爆米花要咸的 = Hurry up and go. And don't forget, I want my popcorn salted  
> 段宜恩,做我的男朋友好吗 = Tuan Yi-En, will you be my boyfriend?
> 
> It's so difficult to capture the dynamics between Mark and Jackson, ISTG, because they burst into strings of Chinese at the most random of times. I have failed to bring to life this most iconic trait of MarkSon ㅠㅠㅠㅠ
> 
> Cheers to #NeverEver3rdWin and Jackson returning for his schedules on the 25th ♥♥


	4. September 2014 (fourth fall)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's September 2014 when Mark finds himself falling in love with Jackson all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, has it really been that long since I last updated this? Life sure has its ways of screwing you over when you least expect it.
> 
> After a terribly long hiatus from writing and all things K-Pop in general, I was browsing through my mounts of story drafts and discovered this half-written gem that laid hidden in a folder, already 90% complete. I guess... I kinda lost steam while writing the actual details of MarkSon's date, though I already had the ending long planned out.
> 
> Either way, I do apologise for the delay in updates! No promises, but I'll try to get the next chapter out as soon as possible >n< I do have a direction in mind and a general draft written out already so let's all hope for the best ^u^|||

Moving halfway across the world and picking up a new language, meeting and making new friends within the celebrity social circle, making a cameo for a reality survival TV programme pre-debut, making an official debut in a Korean male idol group on national television, celebrating his birthday post-debut, having their own reality-variety show, starring in their company’s self-produced web drama, being chosen as a fixed cast member on various variety shows, and now picking up _another_ new language and preparing to make an official debut in Japan as well, Jackson experienced all his firsts in this new life with Mark by his side.

 

Just being able to wake up next to Mark with the angelically sleeping latter safely cocooned in his arms, face buried into the elder’s soft hair and breathing in his earthy pinewood scent, is a miracle in itself that Jackson is thankful for. It still feels like surreal, a dream too good to be true to be the sole recipient of Mark’s unwavering adoration and devotion, the beacon of light that puts life in his beautiful twinkling eyes.

 

Now, 493 days of nothing but absolute bliss later, Jackson plans to return every single ounce of happiness Mark has given him. And it all starts with a well thought out plan (or so he reckons).

 

The night before they’re scheduled for a short trip to Japan, everyone but Jackson packs up as fast as possible to turn in early and catch a good night’s rest. Instead, the Chinese boy dawdles around the dormitory taking his own sweet time gathering his essentials and toiletries, even suspiciously giving up his spot in the shower queue he’s fiercely protective over to Bam Bam so that he can be the last. If Mark detected something off he doesn’t mention it, merely grunting at Jackson not to make a ruckus when he returns to the bedroom after his shower before promptly turning the lights off and jumping into bed. He tugs the hood of his sweater over his head and around his small face and is knocked out cold in less than a minute.

 

(Jackson definitely did not swoon over Mark’s slender frame dwarfed in his choice of oversized sleepwear nor the way he rubs his eyes with his sweater paws, he solemnly swears.)

 

Eventually, after the rowdy dormitory winds down at half past eleven, Jackson jumps into the now-empty shower and takes a long, well-deserved bath, emerging freshly scrubbed and cleaned with ten minutes to spare till D-Day. He runs his towel all over his hair sloppily, mopping up stray drops of water on his neck and back, before tossing it into the laundry hamper and climbing into bed with his iPad in his hand. Even in his drowsy state Mark shifts to accommodate his presence, quickly moulding himself into the younger’s side, and drifts off to sleep again.

 

It’s difficult to see what he’s doing without his glasses on and the bright glare of the LED screen isn’t helping his poor eyesight one bit, but with squinted eyes and the tablet held two inches away from his face Jackson navigates his way through his album gallery and onto Instagram.

 

He randomly selects a filter that looks vaguely decent through his blurry vision and giggles; he feels like a teenage girl with what he’s about to do. It’s so cheesy, and despite his rapidly reddening cheeks and quivering hands he continues to type. Once he’s done composing a three-language caption he waits, eyes trailing the movements of the glow-in-the-dark hands of the analogue clock on his nightstand impatiently as the countdown begins. The moment it strikes midnight he hits the Post button – fumbling a little in his anxious haste – and watches with anticipation as the image gets uploaded.

 

He flails when the likes immediately start flooding in along with comments of _JACKSON WISHED MARK HAPPY BIRTHDAY OH MY GOD MARKSON IS SO REAL_ and _It’s MarkSon or never!!!!!!!_ ™ that make him feel warm and fuzzy on the inside, and he has to bite his knuckles to keep himself from squealing out loud. He does, however, flap his limbs about in a little spastic dance that ends with his heel accidentally digging into Mark’s calve and the elder’s palm landing on his chest in a loud smack in instant retaliation.

 

Mark peeks open and sends him the fiercest glare he can muster through sleepy, narrowed eyes. “I swear on all things holy, Jackson Wang, if you wake me up one more time you won’t see daylight ever again.” The elder hisses, canines flashing dangerously, “I don’t care if it’s accidental or not.”

 

Despite his lean stature, Mark can be convincingly intimidating when he’s sufficiently pissed off. Jackson nods rapidly, resembling a bobble head doll. Mark would’ve laughed if he isn’t so goddamn drained from practising for their Japan showcase tour, but spending more time flipping in the air than staying on the ground takes a toll on even the strongest of staminas and right now he just wants to crash and be dead to the world until it’s the dreaded time for him to repeat the cycle again the next day.

 

 **“Sorry, babe,”** Jackson coos, jutting his plump bottom lip out. He widens his dewy eyes and places his balled fists below his chin for additional effect. “I won’t do it again, pinky promise.”

 

Mark eyes the technological device in his hand venomously. If his eyes could shoot laser beams, Jackson’s pretty sure his tablet (and his hand) is a goner. Eventually, the elder closes his eyes again and sighs. “It’s getting late. Go to sleep, Jackson,” He grumbles a final time. He draws the covers over his shoulders and turns onto his side away from the younger, quickly drifting back into dreamland.

 

Jackson looks over at the cherubic face of the peacefully sleeping boy next to him for one last time before setting his iPad screen down on the nightstand. He pulls the covers over himself and drapes an arm around the elder’s slender waist. He can’t wait to see what Mark’s reaction would be when he sees this the next morning.

 

Mark wakes up on the morning of his birthday to a ton of notifications on his iPad. Granted he’s expecting a flood of birthday well-wishes from his family, friends as well as IGOT7s, half of the SNS alerts were from comments not on his most recent Instagram post or Twitter but on a post by _jacksonwang852jy_ he was mentioned in and he narrows his eyes in suspicion. What did the boy do this time?

 

He gets his answer when he dreadedly opens the application and sees the picture sitting at the very top of his Instagram feed. It’s an old selca of the two of them – and a rare one at that, since they rarely take pictures with each other, just _of_ each other playfully in secret – taken during _Girls Girls Girls_ era that Jackson probably dug up from his camera roll. Then he scrolls slightly to see the caption, and–

 

The loud shriek of _Oh my God Jackson Wang Jia Er I’m going to kill you_ that reverberates through the dormitory and silent neighbourhood that shocks the other members awake – sans Young Jae, because even a banshee screaming by his ear wouldn’t wake him up – makes Jackson decide that all the embarrassment was worth it.

 

The younger, albeit drowsy, is laughing breathlessly as he tries to dodge the furious pillow attacks by a rapidly blushing Mark. The others jerk up from their beds, but when they hear the sounds of someone being smacked through the poorly insulated walls they merely grumble and let their heads hit their pillows again.

 

Whatever it may be, Jackson probably deserved it anyway. Rescuing him can wait; sleep will always come first.

 

* * *

 

They usually don’t sit together for plane rides. Mark, being ever the lethargic creature, likes to curl up in a window seat and hibernate for the whole flight, no matter how short. Jackson on the other hand, especially after his daily dose of iced Americano, will be bouncing off the walls with overflowing energy yapping his seatmate’s ear off. It’s a little overwhelming even for his boyfriend of one and a half years to handle, and usually Bam Bam gets chosen to be the sacrificial lamb to entertain the Hong Kong boy’s antics while Mark cuddles up with Jinyoung or Yugyeom.

 

And if Jackson thinks he’s going to get special boyfriend privileges today just because it’s Mark’s birthday, he can think again.

 

Said boy pitifully nudges the back of his boyfriend’s seat with the toe of his sneaker, pulling a long face at the back of Mark’s head as though the elder can see him. “ **Come on, Mark, I said I was sorry**. Don’t be mad. Please sit with me on the plane later?”

 

Mark huffs and readjusts himself to a more comfortable position without turning around. **“Not after that Instagram stunt you pulled, no.”**

 

If the van isn’t going at 80km/h on the highway, Mark’s certain that Jackson would’ve climbed over the row of seats and koala-hugged the life out of him until he consented. Instead the younger boy throws himself at him and flattens his body against the back of his seat arms snaking to the front to wrap around his boyfriend. Jackson hooks his chin over the seat and turns to look at his boyfriend with wide, imploring eyes. “Please, Markiepooh, it’s your birthday today! **Don’t you want to spend every waking moment with your loving boyfriend?** ”

 

“就因为今天是我的生日我才更有选择权，而我选的人不是你。” Mark says firmly, ignoring the pet name as he untangles himself to link his arm through Yugyeom’s.

 

“I have no idea what you just said, but I’m guessing I have become the chosen one. I personally think that Jackson’s dedication post is sweet though,” the youngest boy says matter-of-factly. He looks up from where he is lazily scrolling through fan comments with an amused smile. “Slightly stalker-ish, but cute nonetheless.”

 

“Hey! It’s not stalker-ish!” Jackson immediately whines in protest.

 

“Kim Yugyeom, you traitor, I thought you were on my side!” Mark gasps in betrayal, looking scandalised as he unlinks his arms with the maknae and scoots over to the other end of the row to find comfort in Jinyoung. The brunette laughs but indulges the eldest when Mark slides down in his seat to rest his head comfortably on his shoulder. “Jinyoung, I can trust no one else in this world but you.”

 

“Markkkkkkk,” Jackson whines, feeling more neglected than ever.

 

Even Jae Bum, who’s sitting shotgun upfront with his earphones in, sets his handphone down and turns to give Jackson a pointed look. “He only said he wasn’t going to sit with you on the plane, but if you keep this up I’m going to switch your hotel room arrangements as well.”

 

A look of realisation dawns on Jackson’s face as he eyes his boyfriend cautiously, awaiting a response or any sign of confirmation from the elder.

 

Mark rolls his eyes but can’t help the stupid grin that spreads on his face as he indulges the younger boy with a playfully coy look. **“Why wouldn’t I want to share a room with you? You are my boyfriend, after all.”**

 

Yugyeom fake-gags, Bam Bam looks on with disdain, and Jae Bum regrets giving Jackson that suggestion.

 

“Really?” Jackson perks up immediately. He shoves Yugyeom to the side immediately and half drapes himself over the seat, planting a sloppy kiss on Mark’s cheek. **“Yes, yes, yes, yes yes! I knew you would never do this to me! love you too, my favourite Markiepooh!”**

Then, completely coincidentally as though the universe senses something is off-kilter, the van jerks and sends the Hong Kong boy tumbling over the small gap and landing in Mark’s lap, heavy boots hitting the roof with a loud thump as he goes over. The elder squeals with laughter the same time their manager lets out a panicked shout, Jinyoung dodges in time and narrowly misses getting a shoe in his face, Jae Bum face-palms, Young Jae gets jolted from his sleep, and general chaos ensues.

 

Bam Bam shakes his head and shares a long knowing look with his best friend. Call it intuition or whatever, but he’s got a pretty strong feeling that he’ll be sitting with Yugyeom on the plane today.

 

* * *

 

Yugyeom does end up sitting with Mark. Jackson shoots the eldest a scathing look of betrayal when they collect their passports and boarding passes from their manager and glares daggers at the back of the youngest’s head the entire flight while the oblivious duo fall asleep on each other’s’ shoulders sharing a pair of earphones and an iPod playlist.

 

It’s already late in the afternoon when they eventually finish settling the administrative matters and check into their hotel. The building is one of the tallest in the area and Mark and Jackson luckily scores a room on one of the highest floors with floor-length French windows and an unobstructed and unparalleled view of the city suburbs.

 

Jackson sighs in bliss and throws himself stomach first onto his side of the bed. **“I can’t believe we’re in Japan.”** He says, rolling onto his back and flapping his limbs about as though he’s making a snow angel on the sheets. **“Feels like just yesterday when we were starry-eyed trainees, talking about participating in JYP Nation one day, and now another dream is coming true.”**

 

“Yeah,” Mark says nostalgically, climbing onto the bed with his sneakers still on. He stretches himself out next to his boyfriend and pillows his head on the younger’s chest and purrs when he sinks into a comfortable position. His eyes flutter shut as he feels lethargy set into his bones.

 

Jackson runs his hand through his beau’s hair and leaves his fingers tangled within the russet locks. “Sleepy?”

 

Mark lifts his chin to glare at the younger. “Well, I was having a really good dream last night, but _somebody_ had to kick me awake for no apparent reason.”

 

“Well, all the fans started going on and on about MarkSon in the comment section and I just couldn’t help myself, you know?” The Hong Kong boy pleads, and the elder concedes with a huff.

 

Someone would have to kill him before he’s willing to admit it, but what Jackson did _was_ cute. He now understands why girls can spend hours on the phone bitching and comparing birthday and anniversary surprises their boyfriends prepared because yeah, Jackson is kind of _goals_.

 

 **“Hey babe?”** The elder hums with his eyes still closed, and his long eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. **“Let’s go on a date later.”** He says as he points at the iron lattice structure in the distance. “We can go visit the Tokyo Tower. It’s like the Eiffel Tower of Asia; the view will be spectacular.”

 

Mark opens his eyes and blinks blearily as he takes in the building standing starkly tall and proud amongst the flat land and low-rise buildings in its surroundings. **“Sure. Dinner’s not till 9 in the evening, anyway.”**

 

With that approval, Jackson unpacks at record speed and goes over to the others’ rooms to declare that Mark is off-limits for the rest of the day while the elder finishes up. When they’re both done, they get changed into casual but more presentable streetwear and Jackson drags Mark out of the hotel room to go on their date.

 

* * *

 

 

The tower is quiet on a Thursday night, with only minimal visitors sparsely distributed on the observation deck. Though initially worried about being recognised even with their disguises on, their concerns are soon unfounded when no one does a double take at the two boys whose sides pressed a little too close to each other and body contact a little too intimate to be considered platonic friendship.

 

“Hey, Jackson, look!” Mark crows in delight as he drags his boyfriend towards and onto the look-through viewing deck. The traffic at ground level seems to crawl by when seen from this height, and he giggles at the way the pedestrians seemingly disappear under his sneakers. “The world is below our feet! **This is so cool.** ”

 

 **“Mark, Jesus Christ, can you not?”** Jackson whines, but it only eggs the elder on further who jumps a couple of times playfully. Each jump sends a mini shockwave through the thick glass when he lands, and the Hong Kong boy shrieks and clings onto his beau’s bicep as though his life depends on it (in a way, it does). **“I’m too young to die!”**

 

 **“Mark, I swear to god, if we die I’m going to resurrect you and kill you twice over.”** Jackson wails tearfully as he buries his nose into the elder’s neck, as though bracing himself for whatever gory aftermath that will ensue when the glass breaks, **“Not to mention it’s extremely morbid to die on your _birthday_.”**

 

“Alright, alright,” Mark finally relents and steps away from the panel, arms tightly wrapped around his distraught boyfriend. “Hey, hey, you silly boy, we’re fine, aren’t we? Sweetheart, nothing would’ve happened; those things aren’t meant to break.”

 

Jackson pouts. “ _I know that_. But it’s still scary.”

 

“All the more why I wanted to do it so that you can hang onto me. I don’t think you’ve hugged me this tight before in the past two years,” The elder jokes, earning a punch in the shoulder and an indignant whine as they head up to the special observation deck. The gallery is nearly deserted save for another couple on a date like their own, and they decide to take a risk by pulling their masks down to their chins as they stroll around hand in hand.

 

The panoramic view of the city centre the tower provides is breath-taking. No matter how many cities Mark moves to, he still finds himself utterly captivated by how therapeutically serene yet seemingly alive night time can be, and Tokyo is no exception. Unknowingly, the grasp on his boyfriend’s hand loosens and the elder patters forward, pressing his palms and nose against the viewing glass.

 

A smile lights up on Jackson’s face at the other’s child-likeness. Being the eldest in the team, sometimes it’s easy to forget that Mark comes third in a line of four children, his two older sisters being more than a decade older, and carries the same innocence as the youngest member of any family. His heart swells with love and protectiveness to the point of bursting; Mark is so precious, and Jackson is once again reminded of how lucky he is and how much he treasures the other.

 

“ **Gaga, come here!** ” Mark’s excitement is positively bubbling over when he turns around to seek out his boyfriend. “You need to check out this view!”

 

Jackson immediately concedes, taking confident steps to stand by the elder’s side and placing his hand on the small of his back like second nature, but if anyone were to ask how Tokyo looked like at night, he truthfully wouldn’t be able to give an answer, for he spent the whole duration staring into Mark’s sparkling eyes.

 

* * *

 

One hour later, they finally leave the tourist spot with matching bracelets each bearing their initials and a Tokyo Tower charm. It’s a complete marketing gimmick aimed at targeted at the ladies at the expense of their partners’ wallets, and Mark can’t believe his own boyfriend had fallen for the same trick when he’s certain the younger’s clumsy self is going to misplace the painfully overpriced item within two weeks. But one look at his puppy eyes and the American is hopelessly weak and he finds himself fishing out his wallet even before Jackson is done choosing the charm pieces.

 

It’s barely a quarter past eight and there’s still more than sufficient time before they have to make their way over to the dinner venue, so they maximise their alone time by stopping at the miniature park surrounding the foot of the tower like many other couples taking a night stroll.

 

Standing right below the landmark, the impressive tower lit in hues of orange and yellow, is majestic and awestriking. Mark takes in a deep breath, breathing in the fresh air of a different city, cool and crisp with just the slightest hint of maple leaves. It’s a perfect summer night date that he never wants to end. God knows how long it’ll take before they can find the next time to spend together again.

 

Jackson sighs wistfully and gently nestles his chin on the elder’s shoulder. “One day, when we become even more famous and make lots and lots of money, let’s go to Paris to see the real Eiffel Tower.”

 

 **“It’s an awfully long distance to travel just to see a metal structure.”** The American boy muses, not tearing his eyes away from the sight.

 

“It’s not long enough for a journey with you. This whole lifetime isn’t enough for me.” Mark gasps in delight as Jackson turns his boyfriend around to look at him with pure adoration. Taking Mark’s hands in his, he draws the elder’s slighter frame into his embrace and wraps his arms around his waist. He hums in contentment as he lightly sways their entwined bodies in the slight summer breeze. “亲爱的，生日快乐。谢谢你走了九千公里的长路，为了能让我遇见你。 因为有你，每天都是祝福，每天都值得期待。 **I’m** **the happiest man on earth, and I want to make you feel the same.** ”

 

Mark’s smile is disarmingly beautiful and it still takes Jackson’s breath away. When no one else is looking, the elder leans in and captures the Hong Kong boy’s lips in a kiss long and deep, conveying all the love he feels from the core of his being. **“Sweetheart, don’t you already know you’ve already made me the happiest man on earth that night by the Han River when you placed your hand over mine?”**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again,  
> words in bold = spoken in English
> 
> Chinese translations:  
> 就因为今天是我的生日我才更有选择权，而我选的人不是你。 = It's precisely because it's my birthday today that I have the right to choose, and I don't choose you.  
> 亲爱的，生日快乐。 = Happy birthday, my love  
> 谢谢你走了九千公里的长路，为了能让我终于遇见你。= Thank you for travelling nine thousand kilometres across the world so that I can finally meet you.  
> 因为有你，每天都是祝福，每天都值得期待。 = Because I have you, everyday is a blessing. Everyday is worth looking forward to.


End file.
